


Crash and Burn

by AnotherWorld3111



Series: Angels and Demons Verse [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Assassin Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Castiel, M/M, Mafia Leader Sam, Rimming, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 20:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13934646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: "Michael is an oblivious child. It's the dog who’s returning to another master at night that I'm concerned about."





	Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday to me... Though it's still the night before for me... What better way to prep yourself up than a headache that leads you to wanting to cry three times within a few hours?
> 
> Anyway. I know some of you guys might not be too pleased to see Castiel in a wincest fic, in which case, you see that top left button thats red and should have an X on it? Go ahead and save me the extra headache and press that. Seriously. Just leave. If you don't like, don't read.

  Dean hated fire.

  It wasn’t just because he’d seen his childhood home burn down to the ground when he was a mere ten-year-old.

  No, it was because of the other aspects. Like, how it was really annoying as hell.

  Grunting, Dean tried to save the last few documents that Zachariah had left to burn. Most of the documents were already ashes at this point. But what he could save, Dean was going to take. Every single bit of information he could rescue was worth it.

  A few more papers that were more black than white - and not just literally - and Dean was forced to move.

  Ducking, he cursed under his breath, shoving the documents under his bulletproof vest. Trying to keep low to avoid inhaling the smoke, he made his way to the only exit out of the storage container. And cursed when a thick shelf fell right in front of it, blocking his path.

  “Fuck.” He desperately looked around, but he knew there wasn’t any way out. Muttering silent please, Dean took out his phone.

  ‘ _Purgatory.’_

  It was immediately delivered and read. A second later, another message came through.

  ‘ _Stand back.’_

  Complying, he crouched. The flames that were consuming the walls were growing rapidly closer. He still moved as far away from the exit as possible.

  A second passed.

  Two…

  Three…

   _Boom!_

  The door fell open inwards, and just in time. Dean could feel the flames already licking his neck. Not even chancing a look behind him, he catapulted forward. Leaping above the shelf, he held his limbs close but pointedly aiming, neatly flying outside and rolling as he landed before standing.

  The storage container emitted a final warning call, before it collapsed.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Dean snorted dryly, shaking his head. “Thanks. Can we get outta here?”

  Castiel frowned. “I can always force you to stand here until you give me an explanation.”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “But you won’t.” He said.

  Castiel stayed silent. He glanced back at the still burning container. “But I won’t.” He admitted reluctantly. “However, you still owe me an explanation.”

  “Sure, whatever. On the way. Let’s just go?” Dean said, gesturing to the inconspicuous blue Prius. Gritting his teeth, Castiel led the way.

  They were barely on the highway before Castiel caved. “Explanation. Now. Or I’m pulling over.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Dean regarded him.

  Despite what Castiel tried to make everyone think - and so far, thankfully for his own life, he was doing a good job of it - Dean had still done his research on the man. Just like he did on everyone else. And while most others’ backgrounds were painfully blank except for a lifetime of crime and whatever else _this_ life entailed, Castiel’s wasn’t the same. All Dean had to do was dig a little deeper, and voíla. Not just the Russian connection on site that they’d been looking for, but a Fed.

  Still a Russian though, and who’d brought in legitimate connections from the country. So point for authenticity.

 But none the matter. As far as Dean was concerned, the guy was a fed. And sure, he could do without the government on his own tail, but someone with Castiel’s connections would be helpful.

  Shifting from his spot on the passenger seat, Dean withdrew the documents from under his vest, aware of Castiel’s eyes flickering over to it.

  “These,” he dropped them on his lap, widening his legs to spread them out carefully. “Are hard copies of all the businesses Michael runs. More importantly, the ones he _doesn’t_.” Castiel dared to look at them for a long, hard second, before he was forced to look back at the road. Confusion narrowed his eyes.

  “You… were trying to save them for Michael?”

  Last chance to opt out.

  Dean ignored it. “No. I was trying to save them _from_ Michael.”

  Castiel let out a terse exhale. “Explain.”

  Dean sighed. “Someone’s been using Michael to run things under his name. Things… Michael wouldn’t approve of. But that ain’t the real kicker - ‘cause, c’mon. Who doesn’t have a lowlife dog trying to reach up and make their own? But everyone with a lowlife dog trying to make their own means they’ve also got a mole. Or a traitor. In our case, it’s both.”

  They drove for a quarter mile while Castiel processed this. “So you’re trying to figure out who this dog is?”

  Dean snorted. “Man, I couldn’t care less about the dog. What I care about is who the dog’s bringing the stick back to.”

  “You’ve lost me. What does a stick have to do with our dog?”

  Dean groaned. For a Russian Fed with high accomplishments, metaphors were something he’d soon come to realize could go straight over this man’s head.

  “I’m trying to find out who he’s reporting back to. That’s the details I care about. The who, the why, the where, the when, the how - not for our dog, but for doggy’s little master.”

  “Did Michael assign you to this?”

  Dean let out a loud bark of laughter. “Man, the guy’s revered and everything, but he can be an absolute child. I’m pretty sure he didn’t even know this storage container existed.”

  Castiel pulled over to the shoulder, coming to a wild stop. Dean hastily tried to gather the documents, protecting them from further harm. “Dude, what the hell--”

  Castiel whirled around in his seat, furious. “Then who are we running from, if not a Michael enraged over the destruction over his property?”

  Dean scoffed. “Man, that’s what you assumed. If you recall correctly, I didn’t say anything except ‘ _I wanna check something out related to Michael._ ’”

  Castiel spun back on his seat. He looked out the windshield. His hands went white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

  Dean clucked his tongue. “If it’s any consolation, I’m on the good side here.”

  Castiel scoffed. When he glanced over at Dean, his face was wry. “You realize we’re both working for the mafia here.”

  Dean hummed lightly. “Says the undercover federal agent.”

  It took Castiel barely a second to respond. When he did, Dean didn’t bother to defend himself. By the time the car stopped rocking from the movement, Dean was sitting as lax as ever, despite the gun Castiel had trained on him.

  “How do you know who I am? For how long?”

  Dean rolled his eyes. He stretched his limbs, making himself look uncaring of the fact that Castiel’s fingers tightened on the trigger.

  “Should put that down before someone gets hurt.” He side-eyed Castiel, continuing before he could retort. “Your techie’s real good at creating a new identity, I’ll give you that. But nothing ever really gets deleted from the internet. You knew that, right?”

  Castiel grit his teeth. “Answer the question. How. Long. Have. You. Known?”

  Dean let his face pull into a frown for the first time. “Buddy, calm your hands first.

  “I figured you out by the night you came itself. But I’ll fess up that I already had my doubts. They were just stronger and in a different direction than the norm for you - and I was right.” Dean smirked. “Regretting leaving cybercrime yet?”

  Castiel gaped. “Why didn’t you tell anyone - at least, I’m assuming you didn’t.” He added.

  Dean raised an eyebrow. “Tell who? Michael? And for what - to get you killed? Nah,” though he didn’t show it, he let his muscles uncoil slightly when Castiel let his grip on the gun slacken. “I figured you’d come in useful. I wasn’t wrong.”

  “You knew I’d help you.”

  “Buddy, I know you’re gonna help me.”

  Castiel turned, pinning his eyes on Dean. “And why would you think that?”

  Dean grinned. Bingo.

  “Because you and I have the same endgame; rid this city of the dirty work that’s ruining innocent people’s lives. And to do that, it would be a lot better if we joined forces. Would make it easier to find out who our dog’s returning to at night.”

  Castiel’s stare didn’t waver. “Do you think I won’t suspect you of having any ulterior motives?”

  Dean let out an unrestrained bark of laughter. “Everyone here’s got ulterior motives. You’re just gonna have to trust me on the fact that mine are a lot more decent than most others.”

  Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  His amusement pulled Dean’s lips into a soft smile. “Exact opposite, really.” He tilted his head, holding out a hand.

  “So, whaddaya say. Do we got ourselves a deal here, or what?”

  Castiel looked down at his outstretched his hand. For the longest moment, he stared at it distrustingly. He switched to an intense, scrutinizing stare at Dean’s face, looking for something.

  The clock on the dash showed a minute go by.

  Castiel put the safety back on, placing his gun on his lap. He stuck out his own hand, enclosing it around Dean’s, and shook once, firm. “Deal.”

  Smart man.

oOo

  Sam wasn’t too happy about the burns.

  It wasn’t like Dean was trying to hide them on purpose. He just wasn’t… actively trying to show it. That worked only so well for as long as Sam kept kissing him softly. The moment Sam’s hand slipped around his neck, Dean’s eye twitched. The action could have been missed - probably would have been too - except Sam pulled back, a look of horror on his face. He tenderly touched Dean’s neck again. Though Dean didn’t react this time, Sam was too well trained to know how burnt skin felt. He didn’t have to rely on a reaction that wasn’t forthcoming.

  “What is this?”

  Dean sat up. Annoyance was dominated by embarrassment that his brother managed to catch onto him. In Dean’s defense, he was too preoccupied to pay attention to his injuries. Besides, if it really was anything major, then he wouldn’t have ignored it.

  “Ah. Must have gotten it from the fire. I guess you could say I kinda cut it close, but hey. You said yourself those documents are enough to level out a good portion of Michael’s business. So it wasn’t like it was in vain or anything. It doesn’t even hurt much.”

  Wrong thing to say.

  The blade came out of nowhere. It neatly sliced through the multiple layers of shirts. The blade cut clean through the straps of his bullet proof vest powered by Sam’s rage. He knew there was no stopping Sam when he got like this. That didn’t prevent Dean from trying to voice a protest.

  “Sam - c’mon man, these things are hard to obtain!” Dean said. But he helped Sam pull the rest of his clothes off him. Most of which ended up in shreds before they even landed on the ground around the bed. Paying him no heed, Sam got up, glaring down at Dean. He may have been a master of masking his expressions, but there was always one exception, and it was the six foot something giant trying to make Dean explode. And not in the way he wanted. Turning - Sam strode into his joint bathroom, rummaging around. He returned with a first aid kit, setting it down on the bed beside Dean.

  “Turn around.”

  Dean huffed, but complied. His brother’s tone implied that if Dean didn’t obey by himself, Sam wouldn’t have any qualms forcing Dean into the position he wanted right now.

  Settling on to his stomach, he rested his forehead on his arms. Ears straining, he followed Sam’s movements, mentally envisioning his brother taking out a washcloth, moving so that he was sitting in between the V of Dean’s legs. His skin had only a brief second to tingle in alarm before Sam was gently dabbing at his skin, wiping away the sweat and grime from the day. Although tense at first, it didn’t take long for Dean to relax, soothed by his brother’s ministrations into a drowsy state. He came to when Sam pulled away. Listening, but not really paying attention, he kept track of Sam replacing the washcloth with an antibiotic cream. It was uncapped and squeezed on his fingers, before proceeding to being rubbed in on the surrounding area of Dean’s burns.

  “You have to be more careful next time.” Dean’s eyes slowly popped back open as Sam bandaged the burns. Dean would probably get rid of those by morning.

  He frowned in confusion, reorienting himself before Sam’s muttered statement processed.

  “I had backup.”

  “Still.” Dean grit his teeth, and then let out a low moan as Sam massaged a knot out of his shoulders. “You can’t go running off and getting yourself into harm’s way like this. If anything happened…”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Dean.” Sam’s hands tightened on his hips in warning. Sighing, Dean tried to turn around. But he had to resign himself to having this conversation without being able to look at his brother’s face when Sam’s hold didn’t relent.

  “Sam. You know things like this are gonna happen. I already told you. Hell, I’ve been hurt worse!”

  “You’re not helping your case here.”

  “Look. It’s just the way things are gonna be. You’re gonna have to trust me when I tell you that I’ll always be careful, okay?” Though he couldn’t turn around, Dean twisted his head, ignoring the pain lacing through the back of his neck the action costed him. “I told you - I’ll always come back home to you.”

  Sam sighed, resting his head in between Dean’s shoulder blades. “How is it that you get hurt a lot more than I do, despite it being me who’s in the forefront more often?”

  Dean huffed. “I dunno. Don’t care. Not gonna question it. As long as you’re safe, I’m happy, Sammy.”

  Sam’s hands cupped his buttcheeks. As he rolled them in his palms, Dean let out a sigh. The previous thrum of arousal that had all but disappeared returned with vigor, blood pumping straight down to his cock.

  “I’m not.

  “Well, too bad.” Dean said, panting. His hips rose without permission when Sam slipped a finger between his cheeks, grazing his hole. “Not everyone gets what they want.”

  From behind him, Sam let out a weird sort of noise, before harshly wrenching Dean’s cheeks apart, baring his hole to the cold air. Climbing up, he lowered his mouth to Dean’s ear. “I’m Sam friggin’ Winchester.” Dean let out a keen when Sam’s finger, smooth from the ointment, pushed into his hole. “I think I’m entitled to getting whatever I want.”

  Dean gasped - and then his breath caught halfway in his throat at the first touch of Sam’s tongue against his hole. He could _feel_ his brother smirking against him - the smug bastard - before Sam went down. He licked and sucked, holding Dean’s asscheeks apart with each hand. The entire time, Dean lay writhing and moaning. He threw his head back and let the sounds be ripped free from his throat. Vaguely, he could feel his neck twinge in protest. Dean disregarded it.

  Hands gripped the pillow by his head. Dean tried to thrust into the sheets, desperate for some friction. When Sam pushed his tongue in, somehow deeper than before, Dean let out a low sob.

  “More… please.”

  Sam hummed. He thought his plea would go unheard. But then Sam pushed a finger in him. Burying his face into the pillow, Dean pushed back, trying to take the finger in faster. But every time he pushed back, Sam would pull his finger back as well, effectively ensuring that he wouldn’t go any deeper except for at his own pace.

  Grunting, Dean forced his muscles to relax, dropping back onto the bed. “You dic--”

  Sam shoved two fingers in, tongue still inside. And then he pulled his tongue out. “I want you to come. Just like this, with my tongue in your ass. Can you do that, Dean?” Dean keened again as Sam stretched his fingers. Finding his prostate, Sam started to rub at it. “Can you come for your little brother?”

  One, two… four rapidfire thrusts against the sheet, Sam’s tongue buried back in him halfway, and Dean came. White stained the bright red sheets under him, his orgasm dragging out for an eternity. He eventually fell loose-limbed on the mattress.

  Sam got onto his knees. He tugged at his cock several times before painting Dean’s hole, spurts of come dripping inside Dean. When he finished, Sam slumped between his thighs, face connecting with Dean’s spine. He pressed kisses there, absently rubbing at Dean’s ass.

  “Possessive bitch.” It was mostly muffled, face pressed into the pillow as he was. But Sam still heard him, judging by the snort he let out. He heaved himself up to lay by Dean.

  “You love it when I take care of you.” Sam whispered, gathering Dean in his arms.

  Dean hummed dismissively. But nonetheless, he cuddled up against Sam. His brother maneuvered them away from the wet spot and under the blankets before Dean tangled his legs with his brothers’. “Pretty sure you got it the other way around.”

  “Sure, right.” He heard Sam let out a small little breathy laugh. The sound of it made Dean smile. He hid it from Sam by nuzzling his face into Sam’s neck. A hand came up to gently cup the back of his neck, fingers grazing the edges of the bandage, where the skin was red and sensitive. Pain shot bolts of lightning to his stomach, making Dean shiver. He huddled inwards and closer to his brother. “We both take care of each other always, don’t we?”

  “Eh…” Dean laughed aloud. His grin didn’t fade despite the pinch to his hips. Sam shook his head wryly, but finally acquiesced. Pulling Dean back into his arms, it didn’t take long for his brother to fall asleep. Fondly looking at his sleeping face, Dean pecked his brother’s cheek. “Damn right we do.” He whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Been meaning to post this for a while...  
> Thanks to tumblr user @deanwinbean for giving me the idea for this one ;)
> 
> I've got another story planned, but I really don't know when I'll get to it. Life and finals have frankly gotten to me, we'll just have to see how it goes


End file.
